


detonation routine

by PersephoneHemingway



Category: 3 Percent (TV)
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Age Difference, Angst, Bladder Control, Blow Jobs, Breathplay, Come Shot, Control, Deepthroating, Desperation, Dom/sub Undertones, Dreams vs. Reality, Drowning, Dubious Consent, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Emotional Manipulation, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Gaslighting, Heavy Petting, Humiliation, Infertility, Lies, Mentor/Protégé, Not Canon Compliant, Omorashi, One Shot, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Dynamics, Power Imbalance, Praise Kink, Pre-Season 2 "Lamp", Punishment, Sadism, Shame, Shameless Smut, Sibling Love, Spanking, Sterility, Stockholm Syndrome, The Sink, Unrequited Hate, Variations on a theme, more like overtones lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-16 09:17:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21268670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PersephoneHemingway/pseuds/PersephoneHemingway
Summary: She hates him, but he's magnetic to her.Enraptured, exhilarated, enchanted by—in his thrall./I just want to please him.I want him to be pleased with me./He gets off on knowing she needs him—that he's the master to her apprentice.It’s thrumming in them both.





	detonation routine

**Author's Note:**

> please read the tags before you continue. that's your only warning.
> 
> oh boy, so i don't even know if anyone will ever find this bc 3% ISN'T AS APPRECIATED AS IT SHOULD BE ACH but whatever, i'm riding this fucked up train straight to hell, baby.  
you can't watch these two and not get this vibe.  
now, i still don't know how i feel about that S2 Ezequiel twist, so imma just stick with the unhealthy unbalanced power dynamic i know and love before all that other weird shit went down.  
but yeah this might be a little much for folks, but if i'm gonna be one of 3 and a half 3% fics for this rarest of all rare pairs, i'm gonna give whoever stumbles upon this a wild ride.  
so welcome friends, to my tunnel of sin.  
and scene.

"Michele."

"Ezequiel."

She frowned. He already had the sink running when she came in. _A break in the routine?  
_

He usually waited until she showed up to start the faucet. Anticipation is everything, after all. _He must be in some sort of rush._

He watched her with his head tilted just so. He noticed that she noticed. She hated it.

She couldn't keep anything from him.

He waved her over to stand in front of the mirror over the sink as she waited for it to fill. _Assuming the usual position._

He settled standing behind her and just off to her left, studying her face in the mirror while she looked down to the water beneath.

She would dare her eyes up from time to time, always finding his stare to flick away from.

Soon enough, he reached around her and the faucet squeaked shut.

She took in a hasty shallow breath as his right hand came up to the back of her neck, pressing firm.

He dunked her; no preamble.

She was a deep sea diver, a drowned sailor, a babe in a bathtub, a disobedient goldfish.

Another girl with her face shoved underwater in Ezequiel's apartment sink.

His hand moved up the back of her head and latched on into her hair, pressure pulling tight as a warning whenever she tried to move or shake free.

Sometimes she'd be particularly rebellious—squirming, reaching up to yank at his arm, pushing her butt back into him in a desperate attempt at distraction—but this wasn't one of those times.

Most of the time, she couldn't help but want to impress him.

So she held still.

Fists. Tension. Focus.

Her eyes were closed today, but she still noticed when the black of the inside of her eyelids started to get fuzzy around the edges as she slipped between consciousnesses.

He pulled her up _just_ before she blacked out. He always did. _It's a fine line._

She sputtered and stepped back and together they fell to the floor. He cradled her to his chest and cooed, "So good, so good for me," while running his hand over her sopping hair.

His protege.

She moved to heaving breaths trying to make up for her lungs' lost time with oxygen. His hand slid down to her back and rubbed in comforting circles. 

She flung her arms over his shoulders and buried her face into his neck. She made noises like quiet sobs but they both knew she didn't really cry about this anymore.

"Shh,"

"I want to see my brother."

"I know, Michele."

He untangled their limbs and stood, throwing a towel to her as he changed his shirt and straightened himself out. He moved to stand at the threshold, one hand resting on the half-opened sliding glass door.

"Maybe you'll be able to do it on your own someday." He meant many things by this, she knew. But for now, he wanted her dependent.

Such was the routine.

&

Early on, she won’t take food or drinks from him.

She’s afraid of him poisoning her the way she poisoned his colleague (and tried to poison him).

It’s not an unreasonable fear.

Ezequiel makes it quite clear that he doesn’t care for her anxieties, and that he expects her to eat and drink anyway, and not lie to him. It’s a warning. Her only warning.

&

Later, she stopped eating again when she lost control.

Ezequiel was consuming her everything so she reverted back to her old methods of consumption—making a bite into a meal and a meal into a festival. She could stretch a dinner out for days; her brother taught her how (but she always got the extras).

He called her to him.

"You know what I'm going to ask."

"Naturally."

"Have you been eating?"

"Yes."_ But he never said anything about keeping the food down._

He eyed her until he came to some sort of conclusion, then turned sharply while snapping on a blue latex glove. "Strip."

"Wh- what?"

"You heard me, Michele."

"But I-"

"Michele."

She bit her lip and flushed cheeks to ears as she pulled the hem of her tee up and over her head. She clutched the cloth to her body and tucked in her chin. She peered up to Ezequiel.

"Drop it."

This really wasn't such a big deal for her—she didn't understand why she was so panicked. _Because you want him to like you._

She dropped it.

He lifted his chin, eyes steady on her. He could see her blush stuttered down her neck onto her chest. "Go on."

She dropped her sweatpants, bent her knees, and kicked them off. She crossed her arms over her belly and held onto her hips. Her underwear didn't match. _Please, do you like me? Please like me._

"Don't hide yourself from me, Michele."

"I'm- I'm not-" A step forward into a kneel and his hands were wrapped around her wrists, yanking them down to her sides.

His eyes flicked up to lock onto hers. "Keep them there." 

"Y-yes..." His fingers glanced along her skin as he drew them up her ribs, skimming her bra as he rose back to standing. He settled for a moment on her shoulder, then reached up to her chin to tilt her head to the side. She felt his exhale on her neck and flushed. She focused her eyes away on the legs of the furniture.

He walked a circle around her, eyes studying the hills and dips of her body.

He returned his lips to her ear. "Tell me, why haven't you been eating?"

She visibly swallowed, felt the spit drip down her esophagus.

"I have been."

"Ah, well, then tell me why you're having such a hard time keeping it in your belly?"

"I d-don't know what you mean."

"You're a bad liar, Michele. We'll have to work on that."

She took in a deep belly breath, closed her eyes, released, and reopened them. She looked him dead in the face. "I'm not lying."

"Ooh, that was good Michele, if I didn't know any better I'd have believed you."

Suddenly one hand was on her wrist pulling her forward and the other was pushing her back down to bend over his knees.

"Ezequi-el!" A choked gasp broke her voice as his hand came down blunt on her buttocks.

"Yes, Michele?" Another hit, the other cheek.

"W- I- You- AhHh!" Four more spanks clustered quickly together.

"Now I know I've taught you better than that." Two more, one right on top of the other.

"You can't—" Nine.

"Oh, yes, I can." Ten. He abruptly pushed her back up to standing and threw her clothes to her as she regained her balance. He motioned toward the kitchenette.

"Eat. And don't be here when I get back."

And again, he left her on her own.

&

For half an hour she stood behind him still and silent as he tapped away on his hologlass. She knew he knew she was there.

She always broke first—her knuckles audibly cracked as they curled into fists.

It's too bad her angry voice always came out sounding petulant when it came to him.

"B- but you said-, y- you _taught me-!"_

"To lie to everyone else, Michele, not to me."

His interruption came with a sigh; he lifted his hand and flicked his psychic wavelink between his fingers and set it on the glass.

He turned his neck to the side to show her his profile. He was not pleased.

"Come along." His head snapped back over his shoulder as he started forward. He knew she'd follow.

&

Desperate pants.

"I- but- Ezequiel-!"

"Bad girls don't get to come."

She was wrecked.

He got up, leaving her damp and sinking and leaking into wet sheets. 

He yanked up his pants and did up the fastening.

"Don't you ever fucking lie to me again."

He left promptly.

She turned to curl in on her side and stared at the wall.

&

_You're a bad liar. We're going to fix that._

Her face was stuffed with cock, and Ezequiel looked so pleased with himself.

"You want to fill your mouth with lies, hm?"

He pinched her nose shut so she’d have no other alternative but to _take him in_.

"Just like with the water, hm? _Accept it. Breathe._

And he kept her there until she was coughing acrid water and saliva into his lap.

&

She hates him, but he's magnetic to her.

Enraptured, exhilarated, enchanted by—in his thrall.

_I just want to please him._

_I want him to be pleased with me_.

He gets off on knowing she needs him—that he's the master to her apprentice.

It’s thrumming in them both.

She doesn’t know how she’s let herself get caught in something so fucked up.

She traces the consequences back, cause from effect, and somehow she can never picture this turning out any different. She can no longer picture her past without him. She’s become convinced Ezequiel is necessary for her goals—_if you’d succeeded in killing him, you’d have forsaken your brother. You couldn’t have gotten this far without him. Listen to him, you have to listen to him. Be good, __Michele, be good for him…_

&

_Her stomach has a definite pout to it now; she still doesn't understand why she hasn't done anything about this.  
_

_Maybe she's just waiting for him to notice. He's noticed everything else, after all.  
_

_"Michele."  
_

_"Ezequiel."  
_

_"I don't know what you're expecting of me."  
_

_She does her best to keep her face blank. She cocks her head. "How do you mean?"  
_

_"You want something from me, no, you're _waiting _for me. What are you waiting for?"  
_

_"The only thing I want from you, the only thing I'm _waiting _for, is for you to let me see my brother."  
_

_"No," he paces in a half circle, studying her. "It's something else this time."  
_

_Her eyes followed his body but she stayed still. "It isn't."  
_

_"Don't lie to me, Michele." The _you know what'll happen_ was left unspoken.  
_

_"I'm not lying."  
_

_He paused and took a hard look at her. He steadily pressed forward into her space, walking her back until she hit a counter with glass shelves. His arm darted out towards her and she flinched—only feeling him in the flyaways of her hair. She blinked, thrown off script. He was uncapping a bottle of rum and pouring a finger into each of the two upturned tumblers, throwing a knowing glance her way. He recapped and returned the bottle to its place on the shelf even with her head. He lifted a glass and held it out to her.  
_

_"Drink this."  
_

_"No."  
_

_"Why not?"  
_

_"When have you ever known me to drink, Ezequiel?"  
_

_Arm still outstretched, he cocked his head. He smirked.  
_

_"Good answer." He dragged the glass to his mouth and flicked his wrist, downing the glass in full. It clinked when he set it down. "I'll see you tomorrow, Michele."  
_

_"What of the other drink?"  
_

_"I'll take care of it, not to worry. Tomorrow's work will be early. Prepare accordingly."  
_

_"Yes," she stepped halfway through the sliding door and then faced back in, as if she didn't know why she'd done it. "Goodnight, Ezequiel."  
_

_"Sweet dreams, Michele." He downed the other tumbler of rum, and the door slid shut._

&

She woke sweating, Ezequiel was propped up on his elbow and smirking next to her in bed, _like he knew_.

She couldn’t even escape him in her dreams.

He was in her mind, in her lungs, in her belly, in her womb. It’s a good thing their sterilization scars kept that under control—she’d never cared much for children. So why is it she kept dreaming of being pregnant with Ezequiel’s?

He’d fucked with her head. He must’ve.

_But he couldn’t possibly be so in control._

&

He calls her to meet him in a room.

It's empty except for a chair and a large water bottle.

It's a backlit white.

He leaves her in there for a while, watching.

She just sits and waits, sipping on the water, trying to keep herself calm because she _knows_ this is supposed to be some important lesson about patience and how she has none. 

It's about an hour and a half before he joins her in the room with some disingenuous smirk of an apology. 

"No excuses. Right, Ezequiel?"

He narrows his eyes, changes the subject. 

"How are you feeling, Michelle?"

She's getting the impression that this question means more than it seems. She tips her head.

"Nothing's really the matter, if that's what you're asking." _I'm just a bit annoyed you've left me waiting here so long, but what's new, really._

He hums.

"Soon then, I suppose."

"...Soon what?"

He smirks and paces around her in a circle.

"How have the trials been going, do you think? Any comparisons to your Process?"

He continued to attempt small talk with her to little or no response, before he leaves again.

&

In Ezequiel’s absence, Michelle starts noticing she's pretty desperate to relieve herself—and the door is locked.

She tries to take her mind off her bladder, thinks back to her dream. Why lactation comes to mind baffles her, but imagining how Ezequiel would react to her milk keeps her from obsessing over what he’ll do to her when he comes back to find she’s soiled herself.

_He'd probably whip my breasts sore then try and drown me in it... I don't even want to think about how wet that gets me._

_Wet, fuck._

Because she sure was about to be.

She has to crouch down and squeeze a few times, pacing, leaning against the wall. _Waiting, waiting…_

And when he reenters...

She heard the doorknob turn and rushed over.

"E-Ezequiel! I- I need-"

She cut off when he shut the door behind him.

"Hm? Need what Michelle?"

"I- ha-have... let m-me go to- I need to use the bathroom..!"

"Ah. I see. And you want me to..?"

"Let me out so I can go?"

"You're not going to ask permission?"

She sighed.

"May I please go to the bathroom, Ezequiel?"

He lifted an eyebrow. You rolled your eyes.

"Sir?"

He brought his fingers to his chin.

"Ah, no."

"Wh- what do you mean no? I- it's not- I mean, do you want- want me to-"

"Yes."

"What!?"

"That's exactly what I want, Michelle."

"M-me to-"

"To wait. Absolutely. You're so impatient, you know."

She screams.

&

Time passes.

“You always say how you _desperately_ want to see your brother, so I’ve decided to show you what real desperation feels like.”

And as she squeezes every muscle in her body to try and control herself, Ezequiel tells her that Andre is in prison, accused of the first murder on the offshore.

"You want to help him? You're going to have to help me first." He unbuckled his belt.

Michelle had never felt so low. She soon accepted she wasn't getting out of this with any sort of dignity left.

She bent to his waist from her seated position, still squeezing, but overwhelmingly compliant. She takes his cock between her lips.

“Don’t you dare let go until you’ve taken care of me first.”

Tears steadily leak from the corners of her eyes now, hands held to herself trying to prevent the flow while she slobbers sloppy all over his cock. He pulls back on purpose so it slaps her in the face, and she has to nudge him back into her mouth with her nose and cheeks because her hands are occupied holding back her release of a different sort.

Ezequiel’s hand comes gently to the base of her skull, petting and cooing.

She keeps on suckling the tip, milking. His smug smile made her want to bite down and he knew it. He also knew she wouldn’t. He had something she wanted, and somewhere deep he knew she wanted this too. His control over her, the submission. She was so well-suited for it—not everyone could be so committed, but he was sure it made it easier for her when it was a secret pleasure of hers, hidden deep.

She liked telling herself she didn’t have a choice—it gave her the freedom to let go and enjoy it.

He knew these things, and he took her at her word for them.

And then his come hit the back of her throat, then down her chin and up her cheek, and she gasped in the flavor and _keened_ as she released herself over the chair and onto the floor. Michelle’s stream of hot piss and desperate moaning brought a wicked smile to Ezequiel’s face as he stepped back from her and tucked himself back into his pants.

He watched as she eventually settled into soft mewls and busty breaths—her nerves so stimulated her spine didn’t know what to do.

It was clear that the relief she had just experienced was comparable to orgasm.

Ezequiel supposed that meant she wouldn’t be needing another one for a while, then.

He clicked his tongue.

“Oh, Michelle, you’ve made such a mess.”

And she suddenly felt this deep pang of disappointment for somehow still upsetting Ezequiel—for making a mess when he gave her no other choice.

“I-I’m sor-“

“No, no, none of that. My little girl’s tired herself out enough for today, hm? She needs to go to bed, get some rest so she’s not cranky in the morning, hm?”

“I- s-sleep sounds nice..”

“I’m sure it does, Michelle.”

“E-Ezequiel?”

“Yes, Michelle?”

“Am I- do- will I get to clean up?”

“Hm? Oh, don’t worry yourself about any of that, I’ll take care of everything.”

Michelle followed behind him, wet, humiliated, and slouched in exhaustion, until her shaky legs gave out on her.

“Oh, my poor baby needs help back to her room? She’s been through too much today, hm?”

Her mind has fallen somewhere she can no longer hear him, and she limply complies with his motions when he lifts her filth into his arms.

He carried her debauched to her bed and tied her up in it.

“Hold still for me, Michelle, we just need to make sure you’re nice and secure, tucked in and safe, hm?” A farce, of course—as if she could even think to try and leave in her state, rope or no rope. Ezequiel’s sadistic streak was showing, especially as he dumps several buckets of water on Michelle to _clean her up _and leaves her like that—soaked belly-down with her wrists tied above her and her ankles tied below.

He would explain it off as some sort of necessary training in the morning when she’d be lucid enough to vehemently object to her situation.

He stood in the threshold of her bedroom doorway and looked at his work of her, contemplative.

“Perhaps it was destiny for us to have found each other, Michele.”

Soaked in her own filth, delirious, and crying softly, she could only agree.


End file.
